Heart and Shoulder
by angelfishlex
Summary: Connor contemplates over the love he holds for his wife and questions why a woman like her is with a man like him, a wanted fugitive. Companion piece to "Keep Holding On". Title is inspired by the song of the same name by Heather Nova. Read and review, please!


_Connor's POV:_

Before her, it had always been just me and my brother. Sure, there was our mother back in Ireland, and our dear friends Rocco and Doc, but now they were both absent from our lives in different ways.

The woman in question happens to be my wife, Danielle, who now lay sleeping beside me in our bed, my arm enfolded around her waist for both warmth and safety. Among the soft sounds of her breathing, I hear the cooing of my baby daughter Mary-Kate, her crib in front of the foot of the bed.

On nights like this, whenever Danielle was exhausted enough to fall asleep first, I would think back to when we had first met and try to figure out why God made her mine after all I put her through.

In the beginning, I had noticed how she often looked around at her surroundings, glancing over her shoulder as if to sense oncoming danger. I suppose those paranoid hyper-senses accompanied the aftermath of enduring such a painful crime like rape. The mere thought of it makes my pulse race with rage as I take a deep breath to calm myself, assurance that she was safe now, away from her traumatizing past.

Each time I observed what made the young woman tic, I grew even more intrigued by her courage and strength. And my overall attraction toward her increased…

But I knew in the circumstances she was placed in, I couldn't satisfy my desires to have her. All I could do was protect her, give her any kind of comfort I could. At the same time, my moral conscience berated me for lusting after Danielle like she was a fresh piece of meat. She was, and still is, the farthest thing from a filthy hooker any desperate scum-bag would pick up from the side of the road.

When we finally made love for the first time, I knew she was the woman I had wanted my whole life. I wanted to provide for and take care of her. But, I knew I could never do that in the proper ways in which she deserved.

Always being on the run, staying in cramped motel rooms and the exhaustion of traveling was no life for her. And as a Saint, I had nothing to give except my devotion and love for her.

The day came when we had to flee America…and I had to leave behind the woman I loved, alone and, unbeknownst to me, three months pregnant with my twin daughters. She was still young and had her life ahead of her. She could have gone to school like she had told me she wanted to do.

I told her that I would always love her, and I did my best to memorize what she looked like before forcing myself to turn away from her, not wanting to see the river of tears run down her pink cheeks.

Six years later, Fate sent my brother and me back to Boston. And I saw her again in the flesh rather than in blurred dreams of alcoholic intoxication. She was the same, but different.

Her voice was louder and more assertive. Her green eyes alert and filled with tired bitterness of the years lost between us. The posture of her body straighter, like that of a confident woman of intelligence.

She was still the Danielle I loved, only she was six years wiser, and weary with the never-ending task of being a single mother of five-year-old girls. And the love I had for her burned even more in my heart, in a nearly painful sensation within my chest.

Now, here I am with her, lying beside my beloved wife, knowing she's happy with the life we now have together.

The only woman, besides my mother, who called me out on my cocky bullshit…

My arm slowly releases itself from around her waist as my eyes find a patch of bare skin below her neck, right between her shoulder blades. My index finger begins to trace invisible shapes upon her soft skin, unseen letters that only I can make out in the darkness.

The tip of my finger draws the pattern of the small, simple words I plan to tell her when she awakens, words I can't go a day without informing her about, no matter what language I may choose to tease her with in that instant.

I hear her sigh in her sleep as I finish "writing" my little message to her…

_I love you…_

I may not be the richest man on the face of the Earth, nor the smartest or most gracious, but if there's one thing I know for damn certain is there is no treasure more precious to me than her, along with my family…

She is my angel, my heroine, my queen. One of the reasons I stand as a Saint.


End file.
